Doing Time
by NoCleverSig
Summary: John Druitt has left more than murder in his wake; he's left a prisoner as well.


**Title: Doing Time  
Author: NoCleverSig  
Summary: John Druitt has left more than murder in his wake, he's left a prisoner as well: Helen.  
Categorization: hurt/comfort, angst, Helen/James, Helen/John  
Season: NA, Set in the past, circa 1895  
Warnings: Teens, only for the general theme  
****Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters and am making no profit from my playtime with them.  
Author's Note: I love the angst of John and Helen, but it had to take an incredible toll. This story is the beginning of what I envision to be an exploration of how Helen takes her first tenous steps toward a life beyond John.**

**DOING TIME**

"Helen, may I ask you a question? A personal question?"

James Watson settled into in the high back chair of the small library inside Helen's new home (her 'Sanctuary', as she'd dubbed it) and studied the yellow-haired beauty before him.

She'd been gazing for more than 20 minutes at the same blood sample under her microscope. Occasionally refocusing, pausing now and then to jot a quick note in her journal, and sometimes speaking to herself (or to him, he wasn't sure which) under her breath. Her golden locks were tied back with a ribbon. The dress she wore was plain, practical for research work. Modest in its cut and bodice. But still, she looked… radiant. And James thought to himself, _"If not now, when?"_

"Helen, did you hear me?" he prodded.

"Yes, James," she answered, not wavering from her study of the slide. "You have a question."

"A personal question, my dear. Do you mind?"

"Certainly not," she answered absently, eyes still glued to the microscope. "You know you may ask me anything."

James cleared his throat, waited a beat, and then pressed on.

"Helen, when is the last time you laid with a man?"

Helen blinked. To her credit, though, she didn't look up from her work. A moment passed.

"I'm not sure I heard the question properly," she said finally, staring even more intently at the specimen.

James smiled. Dr. Helen Magnus was not a woman easily rattled. And if she was, she was reticent to show it. Still, even Helen had her weaknesses.

"I believe, my dear, you did. Otherwise why would the former pallor of your skin now be the color of your slide?" he teased.

Helen finally gave up the pretense, pushed the microscope away, and turned to face him.

"What are you playing at James?"

"I'm not playing, Helen," James answered, reflecting back on how often he'd heard Helen ask that same question of John in a lover's tease. "I'm simply inquiring about the state of your…well being, shall we say."

Helen rolled her eyes at that, sat up straight, and prepared to match wits with Sherlock Holmes.

"My constitution, Dr. Watson, is fine as you know. And as for my 'well being,' well let's just say that that is an intensely private matter. And…really, James," she said suddenly softening. "Why would you ask me such a thing? You of all people know…." She stopped mid-sentence and stared at him, a blush washing across her face once more. "Oh," she said simply.

Watson wrinkled his brow in brief puzzlement until he realized with horror what she might have logically deduced from his question.

"No, Helen! No, no no…. I didn't mean…." he stammered. "I wasn't asking you to….It wasn't an invitation for us….I simply wanted…."

Watson flummoxed. Helen couldn't help but smile at that achievement. It was a rare feat indeed to set James on edge. She let him flounder a moment longer, than finally showed him the sympathy she knew he deserved. He'd always been her dearest of friends.

"Then what _did_ you mean, James?"

Watson had regained his composure and looked at her sincerely.

"You are a beautiful, brilliant, sensual woman, Helen. But it's been six years since we lost him. Lost John to his…madness." He saw her wince at the euphemism they used to describe what John Druitt had become. But he continued nevertheless. He had to tell her this, despite the pain he knew it would cause. "Helen in all of that time, you've been with no one, save your father, Nicola, Nigel, me, your patients. I fear for you, my dear. I fear that your Sanctuary," he said, gesturing about him, "is becoming your prison." He reached out and closed his hands over hers and finally said the words he knew would fell her, because they cut closest to the truth.

"You've done your penance, Helen. Now let it go. Let John go. You deserve to love again."

The look she gave him nearly broke his heart. He'd seen it once before. Six years ago. The night they found out John was Jack and everything in their world turned upside down.

When she finally spoke, she spoke softly, her eyes brimming with tears held tightly in reserve.

"It was my fault, James. It was all my fault. I should have noticed the deterioration sooner. I should have stopped him. I should have found a way."

Watson shook his head and stroked his thumb across the back of Helen's hand. He meant to sooth her. To offer her some small comfort in the wake of the gaping wound that sat so squarely in her heart.

"No, my dear, no. It was never your fault," he protested. "We did this together. The five of us. We made our choices together. And instead of seeking your help, our help, when he needed it most, he defied us. John's madness was a sickness, yes, but it was also a choice, Helen. His choice."

Helen closed her eyes. A tear coursed down her cheek, and James caught it with his finger.

"Now, you have a choice."

She opened her eyes.

"Does your sanctuary become your prison, Helen? Do you hide yourself away here," he said gesturing to the books surrounding them. "Do you stay in isolation behind these walls, your work, your research, your patients? Or do you set yourself free, Helen? Which will it be?"

She paused a minute before speaking. Her eyes far away.

"It's not that easy, James," she said quietly, her voice catching. "Part of me will always love…him." Watson took note of how Helen refrained from saying John's name out loud. "Part of me never wants to stop. Has a very valid reason not to," she said pointedly, looking at him.

Watson knew what Helen was alluding to. The embryo she'd saved. The ultimate expression of the love she and John had shared. She shook her head, her bow falling loose, her gold curls curtaining her eyes.

"It's not that easy to simply love someone again. To give myself." She hesitated. "To trust myself with someone new."

Now they were getting to the root of it, Watson thought. Good.

"No, it's not easy," he concurred. "And given what you've endured, my dear, particularly so. But Helen, I want so much to see you truly smile again. Laugh. Giggle like a young school girl." He said smiling down at her.

She shook her head. "I fear that girl may be lost, James."

"Perhaps," Watson agreed. "But perhaps she just needs someone to find her?"

She cocked her head at that. James could tell he'd struck a nerve of some kind. She was bracing for a fight. Something they rarely did.

"You think I need a man? That I'm incomplete without one? That that's the answer to all of my problems?" Helen huffed." I should expect to hear such nonsense from others, James, but not from you," she said hotly.

"Not a man, Helen, _love_." James countered. "Be it man or woman with whom you find it, I have no care," he said, flicking his fingers, surprising Helen in his forwardness . "Tenderness. Companionship. Warmth. Passion. That's what you need, Helen, and you can only find that in another."

"But I have you," she said faintly. So uncharacteristically shy it threw him. But he knew she was at her weakest. More vulnerable in this than in any other aspect of her life.

"And I have you, my dearest, dearest friend," he answered honestly. "And in another life, perhaps I would have been able to fill that void I see inside of you. But not now. Never would I compromise the friendship that we have."

Helen smiled. Watson loved her. Always had. How far beyond platonic love his feelings traveled he himself was unsure. But of one thing he was certain, the feelings Helen had for him were only those of friendship. And should a moment of weakness arise between them, he would never take advantage of it. Helen deserved more.

"Promise me that you will consider it. That is all I ask," he said.

She looked at him, puzzled, her eyes less glassy, the tears fading.

"Consider what, James? A tryst with a stranger to augment my good health?"

The light was back in her eyes now. She was teasing him. Smiling. Good. He'd gotten through to her, and she was considering the truth of his words.

"If a tryst is what it takes, my dear, a tryst it shall be. I shall even serve as lookout, if duty calls."

She laughed at that, turned in her chair, and went back to pretending to examine her slide.

Over the years many a man had looked at Helen Magnus with more than friendship in their hearts, Watson knew. He thought now, just perhaps, Helen might look back and for the first time in as many years grant herself release.

END


End file.
